The blackout was total.
Silence — real silence — settled over the city like a heavy blanket. No drones hummed overhead. No holo-screens pulsed. No FameScore ticks echoed in the air. For the first time in years, the world existed without the algorithm's constant whisper.
Nova and Eli stood together in the dark plaza, surrounded by thousands of confused people illuminated only by the soft emergency lights lining the streets. Some citizens clutched their devices, shaking them, as if willing their scores to return. Others sat down on benches in shock, unanchored without their daily metrics of worth.
But Eli… Eli felt something different.
For the first time in his life, the world wasn't ignoring him.
The algorithm was offline.
The lenses were blind.
The city's digital eye was closed.
And in this rare, impossible darkness, Eli felt almost… free.
Nova held onto his arm, breathing hard from the chaos, her other hand still shaking from confessing everything minutes earlier. But when she looked at Eli now, she saw something new in his eyes — a spark of determination, sharper than fear.
"What are you thinking?" she asked softly.
"That this blackout is our chance."
"For what?"
"To prove I exist. To everyone. Not just for a moment like in the plaza… but permanently."
Nova blinked. "But nothing online works right now. They're rebooting everything. Your face will be scrubbed the second the system comes back on."
"Exactly," he said. "So I need to put myself somewhere the system can't scrub."
"How?" she whispered.
And that's when Eli told her about a rumor he'd heard years back — something he never believed mattered until now.
The rumor of **a dead network node**.
A forgotten relic from the early internet buried somewhere beneath the city — before FameScores, before the algorithm, before digital surveillance fused with human identity. A network node so old, so obsolete, that the modern system ignored it entirely because it couldn't be integrated, scanned, or controlled.
A node that — if still functional — would be one of the last corners of the city untouched by the new system.
A loophole.
A ghost doorway into the past.
"Eli, that's—" Nova stared at him. "That's genius."
"It's desperate," he corrected. "But it might work."
---
They ran.
Down alleys illuminated only by emergency lamps. Through quiet streets where panicking influencers screamed into dead cameras, and confused citizens gathered in clusters like frightened animals.
The map Eli had pieced together from half-forgotten rumors pointed toward the oldest part of the city — the industrial district built when the internet was still messy and unregulated. Before everything was filtered and cleaned. Before everything was watched.
They reached an abandoned telecom building — a squat, concrete structure with vines covering the cracked windows.
Nova swallowed. "This place looks haunted."
"It probably is," Eli said. "By data."
She almost laughed, but the tension in her chest was too tight.
Inside, the air smelled like dust and old circuits. Their footsteps echoed through empty hallways littered with broken hardware and faded posters celebrating "THE FUTURE OF DIGITAL CONNECTION – 2007."
"This was before the Algorithm?" Nova whispered.
"Long before," Eli said, running his fingers over a rusted server tower. "This is from when the internet belonged to people, not systems."
He led her deeper into the building, past locked doors and collapsed ceilings, until they reached a basement hatch that had been forced open long ago.
A faint humming came from below.
Nova's breath hitched. "Something's still on."
Eli nodded. "The node."
They descended.
The basement felt like stepping into an archaeological dig of technology. Dust-coated cables hung like vines, connecting half-dead machines to an ancient central terminal glowing with a dim, amber light.
Nova stared at it. "This… this thing still works?"
Eli stepped closer, eyes wide with wonder and disbelief. "Old tech lasts longer than people think. It was built before planned obsolescence."
The ancient server gave off a gentle, consistent warmth. Not alive, but not dead either. Somewhere in between.
"This is it," Eli said. "This is where I make my first post."
Nova touched his shoulder gently. "Do you want me to give you space?"
He shook his head. "No. I want you here."
Her heart fluttered — not with fame, not with adrenaline, but with something deeper, quieter.
He sat at the terminal.
She sat beside him.
The screen flickered, struggling to display text. The interface was primitive — almost prehistoric by modern standards.
"What are you going to say?" she asked.
"I don't need much," he whispered. "Just enough for people to share."
He typed.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Then with certainty.
**I exist.**
Two words.
A lifetime of silence broken.
Nova felt tears sting her eyes unexpectedly. "It's… beautiful."
"It's true," he said simply.
But truth wasn't enough. Not yet.
"Now," Eli said, "I need to spread it."
"Through what? Everything's offline."
"Not everything," he said, turning to her with a small, fierce smile. "Bluetooth. Infrared. Old messaging protocols. Forgotten tech that still works because it's too small for the algorithm to bother wiping."
Nova blinked. "People still have those?"
"Most modern devices don't… but older ones do."
He reached into his backpack and pulled out two small objects she hadn't seen before: an old keypad phone and a clunky early-model tablet.
"Where did you get those?" she asked.
"I've been collecting old tech for years. Stuff nobody cares about. Stuff invisible to the system. Stuff like me."
He connected the devices with a tangle of cables and adapters, a Frankenstein chain of technology so ridiculous Nova couldn't help smiling.
"You're brilliant," she murmured.
"I'm obsolete," he joked. "Which is exactly why this will work."
He started uploading the post into the old tablet, bypassing firewalls that hadn't been updated since before he was born.
The node accepted it.
"Here goes nothing," Eli said.
He pressed SEND.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the tablet buzzed softly — a small, humble vibration that felt strangely profound.
The message appeared:
**POST SENT VIA LEGACY NODE. QUEUED FOR PEER-TO-PEER DISSEMINATION.**
Nova blinked. "Peer-to-peer?"
"Yeah," Eli said. "It'll spread from device to device. Old-school. Offline. Through Bluetooth, infrared, local networks. A chain reaction. The algorithm can't intercept it as long as it stays analog."
"And when the system comes back?" Nova whispered.
"By then, it'll be too late. People will have copies. Screenshots. Offline backups. And because it spreads through physical proximity… it'll carry something the algorithm can't wipe."
"Human memory," she said softly.
"Exactly."
Nova leaned her head on his shoulder. "Do you realize what you just did?"
"No," he said honestly. "What did I do?"
"You gave yourself to the world."
"Or the world will delete me faster," he said quietly.
"Not this time," she whispered. "You're already spreading."
---
Outside the building, the blackout eased. A few lights flickered back on. Screens rebooted with the hollow glow of the system returning online.
But people in the streets were looking at something else.
Their old phones.
Old tablets.
Old laptops rescued from dusty closets.
Devices that had suddenly buzzed to life with a tiny, simple message.
**I exist.**
Some people read it aloud.
Some stared at it as if trying to remember something important.
Some looked around, searching for someone who matched the message.
The city was waking up — not digitally, but *organically*.
Eli and Nova climbed out of the building into a street alive with murmurs.
"Did you get the message?"
"Who sent it?"
"It came through Bluetooth."
"Mine came through infrared!"
"I haven't used this phone in years…"
"What does 'I exist' mean?"
Nova squeezed Eli's hand.
"It's working," she whispered.
Eli wasn't smiling.
He was staring at the people — really staring — as if he couldn't believe it.
For the first time, people weren't overlooking him, filtering past him, letting their devices label him as static.
They were *seeing* him.
Not because the algorithm prompted them.
Not because of Nova's fame.
Not because of digital validation.
They were seeing him because of a message they found on forgotten, dusty tech they had once used to communicate with each other directly — before the world got rewritten.
And Eli whispered something Nova would remember forever:
"I exist…
and this time…
people believe it."
The blackout ended with a high-pitched chime.
The algorithm rebooted.
Scores reappeared.
Holograms stabilized.
But the city didn't return to what it was.
Not fully.
Because in pockets everywhere — from devices the system ignored — the message continued spreading:
**I exist.**
**I exist.**
**I exist.**
And people were listening.
Nova looked at Eli with pride swelling in her chest.
His first post wasn't on the network.
Not on the algorithm.
Not on FameScoreNet.
It was in people's hands.
On their forgotten devices.
In their offline networks.
In their memories.
And the system couldn't delete memories.
"Eli," she whispered, "you just went viral without the internet."
He breathed out, shaky and awed.
"No," he said. "I just went human."